Every Time I Think of You

  Elliott was on Brooks’s lap, asleep. Brooks must have turned off the room’s overhead light when he started the movie, because the lamp on the side table and the glow of the TV screen and the Christmas tree provided the only illumination. Elliott had turned onto his side and had one arm wrapped around Brooks’s middle. The disc had ended, but Brooks had obviously not wanted to disturb Elliott because he hadn’t gotten up or called out to me.

  My heart swelled. I sat down on the couch beside them.

  Brooks looked at me and said, simply, “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  My eyes filled with tears and something in my expression must have worried Brooks because he said, “What’s wrong?”

  “I have to tell you something.”

  A flicker of apprehension showed on Brooks’s face. “Okay.”

  “When I had Elliott there were complications. The doctor couldn’t stop my bleeding and I was pretty out of it, so Scott had to make a split-second decision about whether to let them perform an emergency hysterectomy or take a chance and hope I wouldn’t bleed to death. He told them to go ahead. It was one of the last good decisions that man ever made. Nick, the guy I dated before you, really liked Elliott. But it was important to him to have a child of his own, preferably two or three. He’d spent a lot of time getting his career off the ground and he was ready to start a family. I can still have children, but I can’t carry them. We’d have had to use a surrogate, which Nick didn’t seem very open to. He tried to hide it, but I could tell by the look on his face that his heart wasn’t in it. And to be honest, I don’t know that I wanted that either. Most of the time I really feel like Elliott is enough for me. We went round and round for a while, but eventually we decided we wanted different things and we broke up. If you want a child of your own, I’ll do whatever it takes to give you one, but there will be some extra steps involved. Maybe I should have told you sooner. I know I should have told Nick sooner. But I don’t know when it’s the right time to tell a man something like this.”

  I looked at Elliott, who was still blissfully asleep on Brooks’s lap. Brooks’s expression was no longer apprehensive. He was looking at me quite tenderly, actually, but he’d remained silent.

  “Say something,” I pleaded.

  “When my mom was in the hospital having her feeding tube inserted, I had blood drawn. The doctors had discovered that her ALS had a hereditary component, which means there’s a chance I could develop it. If I tested negative, I’d never have to worry. My risk is no higher than anyone else’s. But they told me I could test positive and still never develop the disease. I got tested because I intended to find out the results, but over the past couple of months I’ve come to the realization that I don’t actually want to know. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life worrying about something that might not ever happen. But I don’t want to have any biological children. I’ve asked myself if I’m being selfish. Maybe a life that ends in ALS is better than no life at all. But I can’t bear the thought of watching one of my children die the way my mom did. I just can’t. It’s okay that you can’t carry any more children, because I’m not going to have any. And I think anyone who gets to be a part of Elliott’s life is pretty lucky.”

  I was quietly and messily bawling by then.

  A gushing waterfall of tears.

  Because when the universe finally throws something truly remarkable your way, it is impossible to avoid the accompanying flood of emotion, at least for me.

  “So, let’s do this again,” Brooks said, reaching over to take my hand. “I love you.”

  “I love you, Brooks.” I buried my face in his chest, wrapping my arm around Elliott, who was still wrapped around Brooks. He held us both and eventually my tears subsided.

  “Any other cards you want to lay on the table?” Brooks asked.

  “No. You?”

  “I’m good,” he said.

  Brooks carried Elliott into his bedroom and laid him down on his bed. When he came back into the room, we shut everything off and Brooks took my hand and led me to the bedroom. I needed Brooks to hold me, and I needed to hold him. Maybe he felt the same because after we undressed and were under the covers, he pulled me into his arms, his hands moving idly through my hair, twisting the strands with his fingers.

  “Are you scared?” I asked. “About the ALS?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Does it bother you?”

  “Only in the sense that I feel powerless and want you to be around for a really long time. Life has no guarantees, though. What good is living if all you think about is dying?”

  “I know we all have to die someday, but if I have any choice in the matter, I’d rather not know about it so far in advance. That’s why I don’t want the results of the blood test.”

  “I don’t think I would either.”

  “I think we should leave Fenton,” Brooks said. “I don’t think it’s safe to stay here. I just have a bad feeling.”

  It seemed unfair that Brooks should have to relocate again, especially since he hadn’t been back very long and I wasn’t even sure where I wanted to go. My plan had always been to finish paying off Scott’s debt first and then choose a few cities where I thought I could find the best job. But I trusted Brooks’s instincts.

  “I agree. Maybe it’s better to start fresh,” I said. “No more looking over my shoulder. But there is one thing I want.”

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “Wherever we decide to go, I want you to ask your dad to come with us.”

  CHAPTER 49

  DAISY

  The overhead lights cast a fluorescent orange glow in the stairwell of the parking garage as I climbed the steps to the second floor of the three-level structure. It was Friday, the week after Christmas, and there was something about working a full week after being home for a few extra days for the holidays that made it especially hard to get back into the swing of things. Not only that, but I’d gotten out of work twenty minutes late and felt bad that I wouldn’t be able to pick up Elliott on time. Celine knew I sometimes got held up, but I pulled out my phone to send her a quick text so she’d know I was on my way.

  Brooks had started perusing job boards and I’d updated my résumé. The more I thought about leaving Fenton, the more excited I’d become. Just the idea of starting over in a new town had put me in a hopeful mood.

  If I hadn’t been so preoccupied with thoughts of our future plans, I might have noticed the car sooner and been able to dart back into the stairwell and out the door to the pedestrian walkway linking the hospital and the garage. There were usually a few people waiting for a friend or family member to retrieve their car from the garage and pick them up in front.

  But I didn’t notice and I was too far away from the stairwell by the time I became aware of several things all at once: the car coming toward me and the rate of its speed, barely more than an idle, and a man—a boy really, maybe seventeen or eighteen—who had sprung lithely from the back passenger door and was approaching me steadily and with purpose. He’d also left the door of the car open, which caused all kinds of alarm bells to go off in my brain.

  I’d parked my car diagonally across from the stairwell door, and the boy stood between me and the safety of my vehicle. Mere seconds passed and my heart began to pound as I assessed the situation.

  The car. White, dirty, old, big.

  The slow rate of speed.

  The boy.

  The open door.

  If I’d left work on time, I would have been walking to my car with Kayla or one of the other nurses. Maybe someone else who’d worked a twelve and was heading home. But most of the shift workers had already left and the garage was virtually empty.

  The boy should not be walking toward me.

  Adrenaline flooded my body as he came closer.

  I had a moment of all-encompassing panic when I couldn’t remember if I’d taken my gun from the safe and put it in my purse that morning, but I regained a small measure of my composure
when I slipped my hand into my purse’s special compartment and discovered that I had.

  I wrapped my fingers around the grip of the gun, calming myself with thoughts of reaching my vehicle safely and then laughing at how paranoid I’d been. Because surely there was a plausible reason for everything that seemed to be unfolding in slow motion right in front of me.

  The boy kept coming. My body vibrated with fear.

  Fight or flight.

  …If an assailant wants to move you to another location, do not go with him. Do not get in his vehicle. If he wants to move you, it’s because he wants to do something to you that he can’t in your current location, and I guarantee you it will be worse than what he’s already doing. Run if you can…

  Could I outrun him?

  What would happen if I turned my back on him and fled? Would he tackle me from behind? My legs had turned to jelly. Could I make it back to the stairwell before the car, or the boy, caught up to me?

  Fight or flight.

  I carried with a bullet in the chamber, so all I had to do was draw and fire. He was only fifteen feet away when I put out my hand and yelled, “Stop.” That seemed to spur him on and he sneered, his expression so cold and evil that I felt a level of fear I’d never encountered before, not even on the night Scott and Dale had come to my home looking for money.

  The boy quickened his pace and the car revved its engine as it hurtled forward.

  The timing seemed planned.

  I drew my gun. “Stop,” I yelled again, but the boy kept coming and so did the car. Instead of stopping, he lunged.

  I fired, the sound louder than I could have ever imagined.

  The boy went down.

  The car peeled out, its tires screeching as it rounded the corner, clipping the edge of a concrete pillar, the noise like an explosion as it reverberated through the garage.

  I dropped the gun on the ground, my ears ringing, and fell to my knees. I crawled to the boy, sobbing and gasping. His eyes were open and he was breathing, though it sounded shallow and labored.

  There must have been people in the stairwell because a man and a woman burst through the door and ran toward me. The man told the woman to run back into the hospital and summon help. “And tell them to call the police!”

  “Are you okay, lady?” the man asked. “Do you know this guy?”

  My ears wouldn’t work right and his voice seemed so far away. I ignored him and used the boy’s jacket to apply pressure to his chest, holding my palm firmly against the wound. It wasn’t until the sound of footsteps, and police sirens and voices, pierced the murky and muffled world I existed in that I stopped pressing on the boy’s wound and got out of the way.

  I felt as if I were outside my body, detached, watching the activity around me in complete confusion. How long had it been since I’d fired the gun?

  The emergency personnel worked to save the boy. But the police soon approached, and one of the officers helped me to my feet and led me toward a waiting car. After he patted me down, he took my wrists in his hand and encircled them with the cold metal of the handcuffs. I could hardly hear due to the continued ringing in my ears, but I could hear enough to understand that he was reading me my rights.

  They were arresting me.

  I said nothing.

  When we got to the police station, I was placed in a holding cell. The officer reappeared approximately a half hour later and told me I could make a call.

  I wanted to call Brooks more than anything in the world, but I didn’t.

  I called Nick Churchill instead.

  He answered on the third ring.

  “It’s Daisy,” I said. “I’ve been arrested.” I tried to keep my voice steady, but I started crying, and once the floodgate of tears opened, I was powerless to staunch their flow.

  Nick did not ask me what I’d done; I’m not sure I could have formed the words to tell him if he had. “I need you to call someone for me. His name is Brooks McClain. Tell him to pick up Elliott at Celine’s.” I rattled off the number without asking if Nick had a pen and paper.

  “Got it,” Nick said. “I’m on my way. And Daisy? Don’t say anything to anyone.”

  CHAPTER 50

  BROOKS

  I was in the car on my way to Daisy’s when my phone rang. “Hello.”

  “Hi. Is this Brooks? This is Celine. Elliott’s babysitter.”

  Why would Celine be calling me? “Yes, this is Brooks.”

  “I’m sorry to bother you, but Daisy hasn’t picked up Elliott and she isn’t answering her phone. She sent me a text saying she’d be late, but she still hasn’t shown up. I wasn’t sure who else to call. I tried the emergency contact number listed on Elliott’s paperwork, but I wasn’t able to reach anyone. Daisy gave me your name and phone number the day you and your dad picked up Elliott to go fishing, and I added you as someone who has been authorized to pick him up.”

  I silenced the stereo and looked at the clock. Daisy and Elliott should have already been home by now. Feeling the first flicker of panic, I said, “When was the last time you tried Daisy?”

  “About five minutes ago. I’ve tried calling her three times.”

  The flicker grew into something much larger. “Celine, tell me your address again.” When she finished giving it to me, I repeated it. Drawing on my memory of picking up Elliott the day we went fishing, I realized I was going the wrong way. I swung the car around and headed in the opposite direction. “I’ll be right there.”

  As soon as I ended the call, I tried Daisy’s phone.

  Come on, Daisy.

  Answer.

  It went straight to voice mail. Next I called my dad. “Something’s wrong. Daisy didn’t pick up Elliott from the babysitter. I’m on my way now to get him and then I’m going to bring him to you, okay?”

  “Sure,” he said. “Keep me posted.”

  I tapped the police-scanner app on my phone and listened. It was mostly chatter, and there didn’t appear to be anything significant going on.

  Unless I’d missed it.

  At Celine’s, I bent down to greet Elliott. He was wearing his pajamas with his little blue jacket on over them, waiting patiently for Daisy.

  “Hey, buddy.”

  “Bwooks! Hi! Where’s my mama?”

  Celine and I shared a look.

  “She got caught up at work, so I told her I’d come get you and we’d go to Theo’s for a while. Sound good?”

  “I wike Feo’s house. He always pways wif me.”

  “It’s getting close to your bedtime though, so I’d like for you to lie down and I’ll check on you in a little while. Okay?”

  “Okay,” he said looking a little dejected.

  “Here are his things,” Celine said, handing me a bag with Elliott’s nebulizer and clothes. “I’ve got an extra car seat if you need one.”

  “I do,” I said. “Thanks.”

  My phone rang before we’d even pulled out of Celine’s driveway. I didn’t recognize the number. “Yeah?”

  “Brooks McClain?”

  “Yes. Who is this?”

  “My name is Nick Churchill. I’m Daisy’s attorney. She asked that I call you.”

  “What the hell is going on? Is she okay?”

  “She’s been arrested.”

  Daisy… arrested?

  “For what?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. I’m on my way there now. I’ll know more as soon as I’ve talked to her. She’s very worried about Elliott. Can you pick him up?”

  “I just did. Tell her Elliott is with me and that I’m going to take him to my dad’s. Where can I meet you?”

  “She’s at the San Bernardino County Jail. Wait for me in the lobby. I’ll come out and get you after I’ve had a chance to talk to her.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  I’d no sooner hung up with Nick when my cell phone rang again. This time it was Paul.

  “I need you to get over to the hospital parking garage in Barstow right away. We just got a tip that an unar
med man was shot and there’s a suspect in custody.”

  “I’m sorry, Paul. I can’t take this one.”

  “Why not?” he asked.

  “Because I’m pretty sure that the suspect in custody is my girlfriend.”

  My final call was from Jack Quick. “You’re calling about Daisy, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I’m not sure what went down, but you better call an attorney.”

  “Daisy already did,” I said.

  CHAPTER 51

  DAISY

  My personal possessions were taken from me and inventoried. I was photographed and fingerprinted. I didn’t cry when the female guard told me to strip. Though it was degrading and I was humiliated, I didn’t cry when she performed the search. When she handed me the blue polyester jail uniform, my relief at being clothed again was immeasurable. She led me back to the holding cell, which was still blissfully empty, and locked the door behind her.

  A different guard came for me a while later and led me to a small room with a window in the door where Nick was waiting. He was sitting at a table and when I appeared in the doorway, he rose and met me halfway.

  He pulled me into his arms and hugged me. “It’s okay,” he said, rubbing my back. “You did the right thing by calling me.”

  I did cry then, the combination of my shame and his kindness too overwhelming for me to handle. “This is not okay¸ Nick. None of this is okay.” I pulled away and looked up him. “Elliott?”

  “He’s fine. Brooks picked him up and his dad is going to watch him. As soon as I get done talking to you, I’m going to meet with Brooks so I can fill him in.”

  “Brooks is here?”

  “He’s in the lobby waiting for me.”

  Oh, Brooks. What have I done?

  “What about the boy?” I asked.

  “All I know is that he’s alive.” Nick pulled out a chair. “Here. Sit down.” He removed a notebook and pen from his briefcase. “Now, tell me what happened.”